The Girl with the Crimson Cloak
by alPACAsandllamas
Summary: Once upon a time, there was this little girl with a crimson cloak as smooth as velvet with a task of getting to her ill grandmother's home. Although, this spin-off of the classic tale fills in all of those gaps with a little...twist to it. (Second genre may not apply depending on your preference.) I do not own the cover photo


_The Girl with the Crimson Cloak_

* * *

"Little Red, Little Red!"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Could you do me a favor and bring this basket to your grandmother? Word from the apothecary is that she's ill, but I have to stay here to keep an eye on the store!"

"Of course, Mother!"

I tore my attention from the poppies from the garden and rushed into the storefront, only to see my mother's exhausted, pale face peeking up from the sewing machine. Her cobalt eyes gazed into my own eyes and she smiled sincerely at me with her rosy lips turning upwards in a slight curve. With her butterscotch blonde hair up in a messy bun, she looked like one of those princesses in my book of stories. Her kind appearance matched coordinately with her even amiable heart. She would always volunteer to help the apothecary, or Old Man Carrington, deliver the medicine to all of the people in town or help Mr. Drake, our shoe maker, relax with some tea and shortcake. After all, my mother is well-known to the townspeople for enjoying tea and shortcake.

On the other hand, I'm almost nothing compared to my loving mother. I don't have her vibrant cobalt eyes or her golden locks, nor do I have the perfect smile she keeps on her face even during the roughest times. I'm not famous for being humane around other kids or charitable. I suppose that I am kind of useful with helping all the adults around this small place, but that's only because I would be with my mother. The only quality I think that I have in common with my mother is enjoying tea and eating shortcake. Other than that, I have these moss-colored eyes and hair that seems to be the same shade of mud. My lips don't form into a smile that often, unlike my mother's. After all, this is me, and not her.

Before she went back to tailoring a dress for that other girl down the lane, she got up from her stool and handed me the woven basket covered with a plaid cloth in the colors of bright red and pure white. I peeked inside to see a miniature tea set with shortcake. Perhaps indulging my grandmother with tea and shortcake could help in some way. "When I was your age, she would always think that tea and shortcake were the answers to cure an illness," my mother laughed, hugging me as I set off to Grandmother's cottage in the One Hundred Acre Woods.

"The only thing I don't understand is why she insists that she lives in that little home in the woods. It's dangerous, and I just can't bear to have something terrible happen to her. I guess she just loves memories," my mother continued, grabbing my red velvet hooded cloak from the coat hanger. She wrapped the soft fabric around me and ties the crimson string around my neck. Again she smiled.

"My sweet Little Red, just remember not to squeak a peep to anyone that you do not know, okay? Mother doesn't want her pride and joy to get hurt," she said, looking deep into my eyes. Her eyes started to look like glass, and I knew what she meant.

"Mother, I won't get hurt. I'm a big girl now! I won't get hurt! Don't you worry!" I proudly say as she lightly chuckles. She played with my French braid and ran her fingers over my cloak.

"Alright then, off you go, Little Red!" she said as I skipped out the door. At this point, the only thing that mattered was making my mother happy and making my grandmother feel better.

As I roamed around the town and got to the woods, a group of large, burly lumberjacks stood, blocking my way to get to my destination. They all stood like the tall pine trees they chop down every single day and were all lined up to make up a colossal wall. I remember only a few days ago when my mother and I walked by these men while we were on our way to deliver a dress to Mother's customer.

* * *

"_Who are these men, Mother?" I asked as I watched them strike their rusty axes into the trunks of the trees. Every time their ax hit the trunk, there seemed to be a quick thwacking pattern going on—as if they were creating a melody to fill their dull ears. Each man I saw wore the same bland, brown woolen trousers that were fastened by heavy, thick, leather belts. Oversized off-white tunics covered their torsos and on their feet were dusty, manure-colored boots. I couldn't help but look at Mother once more._

_Then, I saw her, too, gazing at one particular lumberjack. I glanced at her and saw her tilt her head to get a better view at him. Following her gesture, I saw that he had a mop of brown waves atop of his head and surprisingly well-kept facial hair. His eyes, the color of emeralds, seemed to glow—even from the distance in which we stood apart. His shirt was adorned with a plethora of rips and tears and stitches. With the man being a lumberjack, I wasn't surprised with his large body frame._

"_Mother, are you okay?" I asked, seeing that she was still staring at him with star struck eyes. She snapped back to reality and looked at me. Suddenly, she grasped my hand and gently dragged me back to where our destination, while at the same time refraining from looking back at the certain man._

_ Her blue orbs looked like glass, waiting to get shattered. As she continued to drag me to her customer's home, Mother told me, "I'm sorry that you had to see that, Winifred." It was then that I got even more confused—Mother almost never called me by my real name. After all, it was Papa that gave me my name. I supposed that's why she always called me "Little Red"—to escape her thoughts of Papa._

_ On that fateful day, though, I couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes ogling on our backs._

* * *

As I snapped my attention back to the dilemma I was facing, I gently poked one of the men's backs. The man didn't respond. I poked at him again. Still no response. I poked him once again, and this time, the giant slowly turned around. He was taller than I had expected from looking at him from the back. I felt his charcoal eyes throwing daggers at me, and I couldn't help but gulp. This man was probably more than three times my size—I'm certainly not David, but he sure is Goliath. Then, he crouched down to my height and slightly flared his nostrils. "Young lady, what are you doing here?" he asked—no—_growled_.

I blinked and opened my mouth, but no word came out. I clenched my basket until my knuckles turned as white as snow, unsure of what to say next. Then I remembered what Mother had said. _My sweet Little Red, just remember not to squeak a peep to anyone that you do not know, okay? Mother doesn't want her pride and joy to get hurt_, she had told me. I completely ignored Mother and now I was stuck in a predicament in which I can't get out of. Soon enough, the glaring lumberjack looked down at my dainty hands that shakily held the basket full of goods.

The big man raised one of his bushy eyebrows and said, "Little girl, what's in this basket?" At that point, I started to feel my ears burning as red as my cloak and just when I was about to speak, the lumberjack cut me off. "What are you waiting for? Answer me."

I looked down at the basket and lifted up the cloth to show him the tea set and shortcake. The strange man looked into the basket with interest and licked his chapped lips. Then, he peered at me once again and asked me with false sweetness, "And where must you be heading, little girl?" I, again, thought of Mother's words of not speaking to strangers. I kept quiet and didn't peep out a single word.

Although, I suppose he got impatient with me and repeated, "I asked you, little girl. Where are you going?" He made sure to puncture each word in his last sentence as he continued to dreamily gaze at the basket. I knew that I couldn't speak to him for he was a stranger, and Mother wouldn't approve. He looked hungry enough—hungry enough to even eat me.

Just when I was about to give in, a man coming back from the eastern woods howled, "Balthazar!" This man, Balthazar, slowly turned his head to the other man and stood up. "You're supposed to be guarding the woods! What is the matter with you?" the man soon got up close and I caught a glimpse of those fascinating green eyes. The man still looked the same with the well-kept facial hair—this time with several scars etched upon his face, though—and messy waves of chestnut brown locks.

"Well, _brother_, I'll have you know that I am, indeed, doing my job," Balthazar gestured towards me and continued, "After all, we wouldn't want any _intruders_ coming in, now do we?" Now I was in the eyes of the other man, and felt too afraid to even bawl. This time, he knelt down in front of me and studied me for a good second or so. Up close, this man looked like an angel sent from God himself with his gentle green eyes and upturned grin. "Cedric, are you even listening to me?" Balthazar ranted, tearing Cedric's eyes away from me. Cedric stood up.

"Let this little girl pass, she means no harm," Cedric spoke, forcing Balthazar and the rest of the men to make room for me to pass. He turned to me and smiled once more. Balthazar glared at me as Cedric shoved him against the tree.

Before I could stick around to hear their argument, I remembered only two things: Grandmother and the basket of goodies that I need to deliver to her. Soon enough, I swiftly sprinted to Grandmother's cottage, in high hopes of getting there before Mother gets even more anxious. Even when I ran away from the scene created by Balthazar and Cedric, I could still hear their shouts and threats ringing throughout the Hundred Acre Woods. I couldn't worry about that, though, I had to focus my attention to Grandmother.

I continued to run until I couldn't carry myself any further at the rapid pace. I had already passed the massive tree that was set in the heart of the woods. At this rate, I could get to Grandmother's house with ease, knowing that she was no more than a few minutes away. Slowing down, I admired the beauty of the woods while I could with all the birds chirping and having the occasional butterfly float by. Everything seemed to be silent for once. I'm surprised that I have never noticed the tranquility of the woods before when I would go to Grandmother's cottage. The only sounds I could hear were my footsteps walking upon the dirt pathway and my giggles as I skipped along to Grandmother's.

Just when I was close to Grandmother's cottage, I heard a rustle in one of the bushes and stopped. Surely it was just my pure imagination, right? Carefully, I tried my hardest not to make a sound, and there it was again! This time, it was in the other bush right across from it. Apprehensively, I started to walk again, thinking that everything would be just fine. Suddenly, I heard more steps from behind and in front of me. I gulped and turned around, but the shadow of a figure only disappeared. "Whoever you are," I whimpered, "just come out. I know you're there." I heard no reply and no other sounds except for the crisp, cold air whooshing by.

I then preceded my journey to Grandmother's cottage, only find that the clouds were turning dull and transforming into multiple shades of gray. At this point, I had to run to her cottage, but I was almost there anyway. After all, she's probably been waiting for a long time for me and would appreciate it if I came quickly to give her company!

Eventually, I got to Grandmother's little home. The cottage itself brightened up my mood from this change of weather. Its pastel pink exterior walls were the main aspect of the home, but the daisies planted in the front were my absolute favorite. Mother said that when she was just in her mere twenties, she helped Grandmother plant them because they were Papa's favorite flowers, too. Flowers always made me feel like I was connecting to him somehow, in some way.

I then placed my cold hand upon the chipping, yellow-painted door and sighed with relief. Hopefully, Grandmother wouldn't mind if I stayed here for long due to this unexpected weather. As I look behind me, the weather seems to get stranger and stranger with every moment passing by. A roar of thunder soon boomed across the woodlands and a sudden drizzle of rain poured down. Frantically, I twisted the rusty knob, but the knob was so old, it barely turned. Suddenly, I heard that clap of thunder once more and started to breathe more heavily. The knob still wouldn't turn. The thunder boomed again. Without any other choice, I got the idea of slamming my weight against the door, and as of result, I got inside the cottage quick enough to escape a flash of lightning that struck right in front of the cottage.

Once I got inside, the small home seemed like second nature to me. I remember every memory shelved, every memory told, and every memory lived. Grandmother loved those books on that wooden shelf. She would always read her favorites to me, but always kept the ones with the leather covers out of my reach. She said that one day I could read them, but the only thing she truly told me about those ones were that Papa was an amazing artist—both in writing and drawing. I even remember when she told me about how Mother and Papa would meet over at her house—even at the break of dawn or midnight! She even said that they got married here! I've wanted to know why it wasn't at the church, but then again, this is my Grandmother—she isn't to be questioned. Now that I think of it again, where is Papa? He wasn't here to see me when I took my first steps or when I said my first word.

He wasn't even here when I was born.

Then again, I know that he's out there somewhere waiting for me, just as how I was waiting for him. I can just feel it. I know it.

Walking towards the little, stained glass table, I sat the woven basket on top, hung up my crimson cloak on the coat rack, and headed towards Grandmother's room. I soon arrived at the chocolate brown door, only to feel confused. Her door was closed, which seemed peculiar because whenever I come here, she always leaves the door open. I shrugged my shoulder, after all, it has been a long time since I've stepped foot in this home.

Knocking on the door, I said, "Grandmother! It's me, Mother told me to come by and check up on you to see how you're doing!" I waited a while, but there was no reply. I knocked again. This time, the door creaked open and no candle was lit in Grandmother's room. I knew I shouldn't be afraid, Grandmother must've been sleeping for some time. Why would she burn a candle when she's sleeping? Slowly, I crept into the room and gulped. Perhaps this wasn't the best time to intrude Grandmother's cottage? She's sleeping and shouldn't be disturbed, but—

"Little Red, is that you?" a voice emitted from the middle of the room.

My eyes widened. She was awake? Oh, how can I see her then? "Little Red, is that you?" she cooed. It's been so long! Oh how I missed her loving voice!

"It is me, Grandmother!" I responded as I took baby steps towards the bed.

I put my arms out and successfully felt the plush, warm quilt that we had made together. Laughing, I jumped up on the bed and wrinkled my nose. "How are you feeling, Grandmother? I heard from Mother that you were sick," I said, striking up a conversation.

"Oh, I'm feeling just fine, my sweet Little Red, but I really am hungry now that I think of it!" she perks up.

"Oh, mother packed in the basket tea and shortcake!"

"Really? That's grand, Little Red! Why don't you go get it and we'll eat it together?"

"Of course, Grandmother!"

It was then when I jumped out of bed that I felt something strange. I had touched something fairly warm, but waxy too. Although, they seemed too big to belong to Grandmother, so I said, "Grandmother, what big ears you have!"

"Better to hear you with, my dear!" she only said.

Getting skeptical, I started to roam my hands over her eyes, only to notice that around her eyes, it was cold, wet, and damp—almost like dog's fur. I soon assumed that her eyes were too big for her right when I felt her eyelids. "Grandmother, what big _eyes_ you have!" I exclaimed. Now this was getting too strange. I pulled my hands away from her face, only to feel a sharp pain surging through my hand. It was clutched too tightly with Grandmother's and the next thing I knew, I felt another sharp pang, but this time it was slimy and slippery.

"Grandmother, what big _teeth_ you have!"

"Better to eat you with!" she chuckled. I gasped and tried to pull away, only to have "Grandmother" light the candle. Soon enough, fear overtook me as the Big Bad Wolf threw me to the hard, wooden floor.

I got a glimpse of the wolf. As he stood over me I could see his coat of fur that was as black as night with his sharp, pointy teeth bearing straight at me. Those canines and incisors were about to rip me to pieces! Oh, and how those ears looked so huge! It was as if they were the size of the pails Jack and Jill used to carry all of the drinking water from the well! Those ears were just that big! Then, I got a better look and saw the beast's eyes. I squinted and noticed the lifeless charcoal irises. It was then that I widened my very own eyes and screamed.

"A wolf! Balthazar! He's got me!" I shrieked. I tried to back away from the beast, but his grasp on my arm was too tight. Oh where, oh where could help be? Balthazar was trying to swallow and eat me whole! I could put up no match for him!

Just then and there, the glass of Grandmother's window shattered—_crash!_—and in came another wolf! I screamed at the top of my lungs. There were now two of them in the same room, and they're trying to eat me alive! What am I supposed to do! I can't do anything except to scream and cry! Maybe this is my end.

To my surprise, though, the wolf that broke in started to fight and bite the one that's already got me. His pure white coat of fur was now stained with blood and covered in glass shards. The white wolf tackled Balthazar and continued to throw and toss him around like a rag doll. It was then that when he was fighting Balthazar that I recognized a recognizable pair of sparkling green eyes. Cedric?

Soon enough, I became too exhausted and found myself falling into unconsciousness just how you fall asleep: slowly, little by little, and then all at once.

* * *

"Where am I?"

"Oh my! She's awake!" Mother?

"Is she okay?" Grandmother?

"Is she?!" Wait...Cedric?

I soon awoke to three sets of eyes: Mother's cobalt, Grandmother's hazel, and...Cedric's emeralds? How is this happening? Is this all a dream? Mother sat me upright in Grandmother's bed and gave me a cup of tea just as Grandmother set a slice of soft, spongy shortcake on the bed. I continued to shake, my lips quivering and hands unstable. Cedric then stroked my hair and pecked my forehead lightly. Tilting my head in confusion, I asked the three of them, "What happened?"

And soon this lead me to another question as I sluggishly turned my head to Cedric as I asked him, "And why are you here?" He gave me one of those charming smiles and looked up at Mother and Grandmother. The two of them nodded at him. "I'm Papa," he said, embracing me tightly. And those two words were all I need to hear.

But first, I had to drink tea and have some shortcake.

**fin.**

* * *

**A/N: This isn't exactly my best work, but I think I did pretty well—better than how I expected it to be! Originally, this was supposed to be an English assignment, but I really wanted more constructive criticism outside the classroom environment! Other than that, if you've made it this far, thank you for reading!**

**(Also, don't forget to review!)**

**Reviews will make the alpacas and llamas happy.**

**~alPACAsandllamas**


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